


Sore

by bottledyarn



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-25
Updated: 2012-05-25
Packaged: 2017-11-19 13:05:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/573605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bottledyarn/pseuds/bottledyarn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry feels sick to his stomach and needs help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sore

**Author's Note:**

> Originally by request on my tumblr.

            “Louis…” Harry groaned, swallowing hard. “Louis!”

            Louis walked into the room, his eyebrows raised. “What is it?”

            “My stomach feels like it’s being ripped apart.”

            “Oh,” Louis said. “That sucks.”

            “Can you find some medicine?”

            Louis wandered off, returning minutes later without anything. “I couldn’t find anything,” he said, sitting down beside Harry on the couch. “Are you crying?”

            Harry clenched his eyes shut. “It really hurts, okay?”

            “Aw, Harry,” Louis said, laying his hand lightly on Harry’s stomach. “How long has it hurt for?”

            “An hour or so?”

            “Why didn’t you call me then?”

            Harry sniffed. “I didn’t want to bug you.”

            “You’re ridiculous,” Louis said, moving his hand in slow circles.  “You know I don’t mind.”

            Harry sighed.

            “Let me get some water, okay?” Louis stood up, leaving Harry on the couch again.

            Harry only took a sip of the water before making a face and handing it back. “That makes it worse.”

            “Should I call a doctor?” Louis wondered aloud, touching Harry’s stomach again. “How bad is it?”

            Harry took a sharp breath and winced slightly. “Don’t call a doctor, please,” he said. “I just want to lay here.”

            Louis sighed, looking down at Harry.  His hair was slightly sweaty, clinging to his forehead, and his breath was ragged, fast and harsh.  His eyes were still wet, and his lips were parted. His skin was blotchy and pale. 

            Louis was about to get up to find a thermometer, but Harry grabbed his wrist and pulled him back, shaking his head.

            “Please don’t go,” Harry said.  “Please?”

            “It’ll only be for a minute, I think you have a fever,” Louis said, standing up.  “Just hang on.”

            Harry let out a pitiful whine, making Louis turn back around. “Harry, I’ll be right back!”

            Louis nodded again at the boy and left, wondering if Harry had a fever high enough to muddle his thoughts or something, he was acting so strangely.  Louis found the thermometer quickly and hurried back to Harry, wincing at the high temperature the thermometer gauged.

            “Harry, I really think we should take you to a doctor,” Louis said. “You have a fever.”

            “I don’t want to go.” Harry said, frowning.

            Louis started rubbing Harry’s stomach again, shaking his head. “You’re making me worry.”

            “I’m sorry,” Harry said, closing his eyes. “I don’t mean to.”

            Louis sat with Harry for an hour, occasionally making Harry drink some of the water- even if it didn’t feel good, it was necessary.

            Finally Harry fell asleep- it was obvious instantly because of his more regular breathing and relaxed face.

            Louis sat with him a few minutes longer before standing up, leaving the sleeping boy on the couch.   Harry woke up the next morning after sleeping for eleven hours with no recollection of the entire exchange, the fever having addled his brain.

            Louis supposed it was good and bad that Harry had forgotten- good, because he wouldn’t want Harry to remember his discomfort, bad because he might not have learned his lesson about telling him when he felt bad.

            Harry stood up off the couch to give Louis a kiss, and Louis stuck his hand over Harry’s face .

            “You’re sick,” Louis said. “I’m certainly not kissing you.”


End file.
